“Gundi says. “It’s Cajun, right? A bayou name.” The turquoise cushions are on the floor around them, and Jax’s head is in her lap. The raspberry tea is gone; they are past that stage of the consolation. “My daddy was an alligator,” Jax tells her, enjoying the pity. “He only bit once.” “What do people usually say, when they get your name wrong?” “Thimble Dukes.” “And your girlfriend, what does she say?” “She says, ‘Jax, honey, get your butt in here please and pick up your socks.’” He rests his lo...ng hands on his face and rubs his eye sockets deeply. Gundi strokes Jax’s hair. “I’m very sorry for this strange disaster that has entered your life.” “I’m sorry too.” Jax sits up, putting a few inches of turquoise cushion between himself and Gundi. She talks like a nineteenth-century romance novel with twentieth-century intentions. “I’m sorry Taylor and Turtle are living in a Dodge Corona. That part I know is a disaster. The rest I’m not sure about.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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